


the long and wondrous journey still to be ours

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: Bernie finds herself with nothing to do and too much time.





	1. put your lips to the world

**Author's Note:**

> Oh guess what it's a coffee shop AU. Oh guess what, all chapter titles come from Mary Oliver poems because I was an English major and need everyone to know it, apparently.

_What I want to say is_  
_that the past is the past,_  
_and the present is what your life is,_  
_and you are capable_  
_of choosing what that will be,  
darling citizen._

Mary Oliver (Mornings at Blackwater)

  


Bernie Wolfe has never been idle a day in her life. She worked hard in her courses, went into medicine, married and had children, enlisted as a medic in the army, and kept going, spending her life at a grueling pace, never slowing, never stopping, never tiring.

She lost her family that way, she supposes. She never planned on a husband, on a family. She loves her children, that’s a given, but it wasn’t a love that came easily. She worked at it, learned to love the crude drawings and the jewelry made from uncooked pasta. She celebrated her children’s mundane accomplishments with relish, scooped them up when they skinned their knees, brushed kisses to their foreheads at bedtime. But when the chance came to leave them, it wasn’t as difficult of a choice as one might imagine. She thinks that makes her a bad mother, a bad wife. She’s fiercely independent, has a hard time imagining three other people might feel at all dependent on her. Thinks they’ll be fine without her for long stretches.

They are fine, and they do cope, but the hole she leaves behind grows smaller and smaller until there’s no room for her left. She finds herself a new place to land, in Kandahar. With Alex. She kisses a woman who tastes of the warm desert and the salt of sweat, and tells herself she’s happier now.

And then an IED goes off, and she’s flown back to England, her spine in pieces, her body bruised and broken. She has nothing to show for her life but a sparsely decorated flat, a cane for the days when the rain makes her bones ache, and endless amounts of spare time.

She doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

She tries to watch television, puts on Netflix. Her physical therapist suggested some shows that she’d missed while she was out of the country, and she scrolls through the list, settles on a show called _Orange is the New Black_ , falls asleep after ten minutes. She didn’t used to nap during the day, never had the time.

She naps a lot more, now, struggles to find ways to fill her mornings and afternoons. She walks around her neighborhood, giving small, tight smiles to passersby, never enough to invite anyone to converse with her. She walks to the park, her chest clenching as she sees children playing on the swings, misses her own. She quashes the feeling before it can overwhelm her, hurries back home, curls up under her duvet and wills herself to sleep.

There’s a coffee shop, down the street. She goes there one morning, gets a more-than-passable cup of coffee, eats a flaky pastry. She enjoys the music they play over the speakers, the atmosphere of it all. It’s filled with people, but they all have their own lives. She can exist near them all, with no expectations. She comes back the next day, and the next. They learn her order, sometimes it’s even waiting for her before she arrives.

Then one morning, there’s a sign in the window - “Help Wanted.” She asks about it at the counter.

“Oh, Jenny’s just off to uni soon, so we need another person on the front lines,” Sean, a tall red-haired man who has no idea that Bernie was in the army, tells her with a wide smile as he hands her a steaming mug.

“How much experience do they need to have?” she says, almost can’t believe she’s let it get this far already. But thinks it would be nice to have something to do every day, a way to keep busy.

“Honestly? Probably not much. Training is sometimes pretty intense, but as long as they’re a quick learner, it’ll all go fine. Know someone?” Bernie shrugs, thinks she’ll try to talk to Owen, the manager, if he appears before she leaves. Is startled to realize that she knows the name of almost everyone who works in the coffee shop.

Owen hires her on the spot, says she’s probably over-qualified, but as long as she doesn’t mind scrubbing out coffee urns and wiping down counters, it’s fine. He’s seen her every day for a month, doesn’t feel the need to talk to any references, knows she’s not crazy, and that she always tips well. Bernie shakes his hand, feeling buoyed by this success. It wasn’t in her plan for the day to get a job, and she never imagined she’d work in a coffee shop, but it doesn’t scare her. In fact, she feels excited. She hasn’t done something new in so long.

\- - -

Training is hard, Sean was right. It’s a lot to remember, to take in. She masters basic coffee orders quickly, can steam milk without burning herself, but has yet to master the art of drawing designs in the foam, leaving that to her other, more artistic coworkers. She’d rather brew, deal with the actual mechanics of things than the set-dressing of it all. She applies herself to it like she did with her anatomy class, making mnemonic devices to try to remember everything, sets it to a little tune that Owen overhears her humming to herself.

“You care more than a lot of baristas, I’ll give you that,” he says with a laugh, and Bernie doesn’t feel mocked.

“If I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it well,” she answers, and starts making a tea for a waiting customer.

The coffee shop, simply called Grasshopper, is busy, upscale. They pride themselves on their European roasted beans, the filtered coffees they serve. Bernie never knew much about coffee before starting work here, and she tries to take it all in. She develops a palate for coffee, can talk about ‘a hint of lingonberry’ and ‘oaky overtones’ and doesn’t even laugh at herself for it.

She’s busy, that’s what matters. She works often, every morning they let her. She doesn’t mind evenings, but it’s quieter and there’s less to occupy her mind. She can only sweep the floors and straighten the paper cups and sleeves so many times.

Everyone she works with, except for Owen, is a lot younger than her, around the same age as Cameron and Charlotte. She wonders if her children drink coffee, if they would like Grasshopper, if they would think it was too silly or too pretentious. Sometimes after a long shift, Sean will invite her out for an early happy hour, and she never takes him up on it, feels like she’d be the mum out with the kids, even though no one has given any inclination that they feel she’s any sort of maternal figure to them.

She likes being a mystery, in some ways. There’s no time in the morning to get into personal life stories, so no one knows that she has a cane hanging from her doorknob, or scars criss-crossing on her body. They don’t know she’s divorced, or a doctor, or anything except that she’s a quiet older lady who will take the shifts at five-thirty in the morning when the rest of them are sleeping off hangovers.

When she comes home from work every day, the smell of coffee lingers around her, seeped into her skin. Her fingers are tinged with the scent of the herbal teas, lemon verbena and chamomile. She likes it, finds it calming. Her apartment smells better for it. Her body is sore, her feet aching, but she feels rejuvenated, because she’s earned these pains from working, they aren’t just something attached to an injury she wasn’t able to avoid.

\- - -

She’s at work one morning during a lull, alone in the shop with only one customer, sitting quietly in the corner with their laptop, wiping crumbs off a table, enjoying the respite from the hectic frenzy that is the before work crowd. The door opens, and sunlight pours in, framing the newcomer in a halo of light. Bernie chides herself for being overly sentimental, but as the door closes and she’s fully visible to Bernie, her mouth opens slightly.

The woman is pretty, short brown hair, elegant neck, flowy patterned scarf, sensible work trousers, hideous but practical work shoes. Bernie straightens, smiles, but feels as though it must look like a grimace. “Morning,” she says as she heads behind the counter. “What can I get you?”

“Strong and hot is all I care about,” the woman says and Bernie’s heart skips a beat. Her voice is lovely, she thinks, even if she’s only said eight words.

“You might need to be a little more specific than that,” Bernie hedges, reaching for a cup. The woman has kind, dark eyes, creases around her mouth. She looks friendly, warm, inviting. “Espresso? Or regular coffee?”

“Will you judge me if I say both?” she asks, and Bernie huffs out a laugh, shakes her head. “Give me your favorite of each. And one of those croissants.”

“What’s your name?” Bernie has her marker out, poised on the edge of the cup, and the other woman looks around.

“Afraid it’ll get confused with one of the other patrons here?” she says, gesturing to the near-empty cafe. Bernie colors, and the woman takes pity on her. “It’s Serena.”

Bernie’s handwriting is abysmal, the stereotypical handwriting of a doctor used to scratching out prescriptions and diagnoses on charts. But she’s careful with the letters, the swoop of the S, distinguishing the e from the r, and knows Serena’s watching her. She makes the espresso, pours the coffee, rings up the total. “Eight pounds fifty,” she says and Serena looks up at the chalkboard behind her.

“Can’t be that low - you’ve only charged me for the two ounce, I think.” Bernie colors again, wishes she could crawl under something. It’s true, she’s pulled out the eight ounce cup for espresso, on purpose. She just wanted to make Serena smile. There’s no way to be suave about this.

“On the house,” she says, not looking at Serena, “A special for first-time customers.” Eye contact would have made it seem like a confidence gesture, but instead it seems like some desperate plea for gratitude. She slides the two cups across the counter, puts the croissant on a plate with a napkin. She turns away from Serena then, can’t imagine a worse ending to the interaction, feels like a teenager all over again, wipes her hands on the mandatory work apron, fidgets with the coffee filters.

“I need this to go, please,” Serena’s voice is kind, lilting from behind Bernie and so she turns around to look at Serena once more. “Just a stop in before work, can’t stay, I’m afraid - the coffee shop at the hospital is closed for some unknown, and, frankly, inconvenient, reason.”

“You work at the hospital?” Bernie asks, getting a small container to put the croissant in. She wonders if Serena knows about the army medic that was flown in after being blown up by an IED, wonders what it is she does.

“I do indeed, consultant surgeon of the AAU ward.” Bernie breathes a small sigh of relief, she was never in that ward, never met anyone who worked there. Maybe tales of her presence in the hospital might have spread, but Serena wouldn’t know her from Eve.

“Well then, you most certainly cannot be without caffeine for the day. Best of luck to you, Serena,” she says, and Serena graces her with a smile, slipping the food into her purse, holding the two cups, one in each hand. She takes a sip from the espresso, smacks her lips appreciatively.

“You have good taste…” Serena’s eyes drop to Bernie’s nametag briefly, before looking back up to her eyes, “Bernie.” Bernie blushes for a record-breaking third time in as many minutes and desperately wishes for a customer, any customer, to come in and break this stilted tension. “If the service is always this good, I’ll be sure to come back,” Serena says lightly, and with that, she’s out the door, and Bernie lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

\- - -

Serena’s presence lingers in Bernie’s mind for some time after their awkward encounter. She feels embarrassed every time she thinks of it, can’t believe she was so silly as to pull a stunt worthy only of acne-speckled teenagers working at a Starbucks, can’t believe she was caught out. She thinks of the morning glow surrounding Serena, enveloping her in light, wonders if she’s possibly romanticized the whole thing

She tries to work every single morning shift she can, doesn’t want to miss an opportunity when Serena might come in again, wants a second chance to make a good impression, she supposes. Owen says nothing about her zeal for working, just schedules her maximum hours and offers a word of concern that she doesn’t burn herself out.

But she doesn’t see Serena again, wonders if they’re just ships passing in the night, if the only impression she’ll ever leave is one of a bumbling and awkward barista. She tries to forget about her, tries to remember her life before she’d given a stranger a free espresso, but all she ends up doing instead is thinking more about her.

She thinks about bringing a coffee to AAU, to surprise Serena, but more than anyone, Bernie knows how unpredictable the schedule of a surgeon can be, so she abandons the idea, decides that it’s best that nothing ever happened, that it was just a moment in time, and does her best to move on. Tries to learn the art of drawing shapes in foam to distract herself, can only manage wonky hearts and lopsided leaves.

At least she’s busy, at least her time is occupied.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what I don't drink coffee. Consider this an introduction of sorts.


	2. meanwhile the world goes on

_Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,  
_ _the world offers itself to your imagination_

Mary Oliver (Wild Geese)

 

Serena Campbell is not one for idle daydreams, doesn’t have time for flights of fancy or moments where her thoughts are not on the problems directly in front of her. She is a pragmatist. She has her routine for her day, and follows that routine to the letter, as best she can. Jason living with her has helped foster this habit in her, two souls that desperately cling to order and rules. He’s learning to understand the unavoidable inconsistencies, and she’s learned which rules are the most important to follow.

And yet, she finds it in herself to want a break from the routine. The day that Pulses was closed, something about a broken pipe or a brief power outage - she was never sure the exact reason - she ventured beyond the norms of her life, went to a small, very posh coffee shop. And there, in the middle of the cafe was this person - this woman - who made Serena’s stomach flutter. It was unexpected, it was new. So she put on her brave face and flirted her way through the encounter, the way she did whenever she felt slightly off-kilter.

And found herself with a very strong, very hot, very large cup of coffee, much larger than what she’d paid for, much larger than what she normally started her day with.

She tried to blame the caffeine for her fidgety nature for the rest of that day but she knows, truly, that it was the barista - Bernie - who is at fault. A tall, lean woman, probably about Serena’s age, if she were pushed to guess. Serena wonders what brought her to work in a coffee shop, spends far too much time thinking about it. Jason stirs her from woolgathering with a question about going out for pub trivia some weekend, and she has to stop and think, trying to pull his words out of thin air so she can pretend she was involved in the entirety of the conversation.

Her only solution, after a time, is to go back to Grasshopper, to find the time to visit the coffee shop (to visit Bernie, her traitorous mind says). It’s hard, her schedule is busy, she has obligations to fill. She looks at their website, finds out that they open far earlier than her shift starts, decides she’ll go in one morning when she doesn’t have Jason with her, finds herself planning what she’ll wear, chastises herself for being so foolish, tells herself that Bernie must see a thousand people every day, there’s no possible way she’ll remember Serena.

\- - -

It’s a Wednesday morning, gloomy, with clouds threatening to explode with rain at any moment. Serena doesn’t look as nice as she’d dreamed that she would, swaddled in a raincoat, clutching an umbrella like a lifeline. But she made the plan, and she’s sticking to it, and so she opens the door to Grasshopper. She’s surprised to find it bustling, loud, much busier than it was on her first visit. There are five people in line in front of her, the tables are all filled with people on laptops or cell phones, the music a dull hum in the background of it all. And then she catches a flash of blond behind the counter, and Serena’s pulse quickens.

She stares at the menu, trying to make sense of the fancy names on the board, is somewhat of a coffee neophyte - drinks whatever Pulses puts in front of her most days, and doesn’t ask any more of it. She sees a tray of pain au chocolat, feels a sense of relief at the sight of one thing she recognizes.

The line moves quickly enough, people milling around waiting for their orders to be filled, and soon enough Serena is at the front. Bernie’s head is down as she moves forward, and Serena, finding herself braver than she might imagine, says, “Hello again.”

“Hello, you,” Bernie answers, with a small smile, secretive and happy, and Serena feels a flush of pleasure at the sight.

“If I say same as last time, is that too presumptuous?” Serena asks, and Bernie shakes her head, grabs two cups, one for espresso, and one for coffee. “The right size this time?” she says, a smirk seeping into her tone, and Bernie huffs out a laugh, her face turning an appealing shade of red. “And a pain au chocolat, if you don’t mind.”

Serena feels her heart clench slightly as she sees Bernie write “Serena” on the outside of the cup, feels giddy to be remembered so fully.

“Wish I had time to chat, but -” Bernie gestures to the line behind Serena, and Serena nods, ducks out of the way, waits with everyone else, an idiotic smile on her face until she remembers everyone else can see her.

She tries to say goodbye to Bernie before she leaves, but the morning rush is still going strong, so she has to leave without a word, just sips at her coffee, clutches the pastry in its wax paper bag and the espresso shot in one hand, tries to finagle the door, is grateful someone opens it for her before she makes an ass of herself.

\- - -

Serena makes a plan to go after work one day, hopes that maybe Bernie works long days, that maybe there’ll be more time to talk. She can’t believe she’s spent this much time thinking about a stranger, spent this much time worrying about when she will get to talk to a random person again.

Jason notes her bright red lipstick, the rouge on her cheeks, and she hopes his frank assessment of the situation could be taken as a compliment, because she feels the need to have her ego boosted. She’s not unaware of how she looks, knows she’s pretty enough, but she’s also older and wrinklier, and hasn’t quite gotten a handle on how one dates at her age.

But she fluffs her hair and goes into the coffee shop, idly thinking that she’ll have to adjust her coffee budget if she keeps coming here. Wonders if Bernie would give her a discount, scolds herself for putting the cart before the horse.

She doesn’t see Bernie, just sees a couple of twenty-somethings lounging behind the counter. The music is a little louder in the afternoon, the tables filled with couples and friends, chatting and laughing, there’s less of a work atmosphere now, it all feels a little more casual. She decides on getting a tea, knows how to order a chai, won’t be dependent on Bernie selecting something for her.

As her order is rung up, she tries to find a suave way to ask about Bernie, but all she comes up with is saying, “Bernie? When does she, when does she work, usually?” and mentally shakes her head at herself for sounding like a fumbling teenager.

“She’s our morning gal,” the man says, handing over her change. “Lets us all sleep in, like an angel. Glad to have her. Want to leave a message for her?”

Serena considers this for a moment, rolls around words in her head, trying to decide what would be the best thing to say, what would be the most alluring. Wonders if she could leave her phone number, or if that’s too forward. “Just tell her Serena says hello?” she asks delicately, and she gets a nod in return. Mission accomplished as much as it could’ve been, Serena leaves, feeling slightly old and a lot foolish.

\- - -

When Bernie gets to work the next morning, there’s a note pinned to the bulletin board in the backroom that just says “B - Serena says hello.” Sitting there, in plain black ink. Serena stopped in to say hello. To her. The thought brings Bernie no small amount of joy, because she’s been wishing that Serena would visit again, regrets that the last time they’d seen each other was in the middle of the bustling morning with no time to stop.

She takes down the note, slips it in her bag, next to her phone so it won’t get crumpled. She thinks she might even stick it up to her refrigerator when she gets home. She puts on her apron, her name tag, and goes out to work, finds herself thinking of Serena as she pours coffee and steams milk.

It’s too much to hope for that Serena would come in twice in two days, but Bernie still finds herself looking up every time the door opens, hoping for a glimpse of that brown hair, that wide smile, the dimpled chin. She hasn’t felt this head-over-heels in quite some time, not since Alex - but this feels different, somehow.

It’s a surprise, then, when Serena shows up after all, comes in right before lunch time, just as Bernie’s about to take a fifteen. Her smile is warm, infectious, and Bernie can’t help but smile back. She ducks out of her apron, tells Sean she’s taking her break and he gives her a wink. Bernie’s suffered mild teasing about Serena all morning, but it doesn’t bother her too much, because she’s about to sit at a table across from the woman in question and actually have a real conversation.

Bernie realizes, all of a sudden, that she has no idea if Serena is even interested in women, if all this flirting and saying hello might possibly just be the machinations of a woman of a certain age trying to find a friend. She decides, in an instant, that even if that’s all it is, she’ll be grateful for it.

They sit themselves at a small table tucked in the corner by the window, and the silence feels oppressive for a time, and Bernie casts about for some topic of conversation. It’s quite a different thing to suddenly be face to face with the person who’s occupied her thoughts for the last month, and realize she doesn’t know what to say.

“So you’re the morning gal - that’s what they told me yesterday,” Serena says after a bit and Bernie wishes she’d thought to get them coffees, would love to have something to hold.

“Seems unfair to ask the twenty year-olds to get up at 5am. I’m usually up anyway,” she answers. It’s true, her military training is ingrained, and she’s up before her alarms beeps every morning. She offers Serena a smile. “I suppose you get to set your hours, being head of a department and all?”

Serena laughs and Bernie wonders if it’s a silly question - it’s been so long since she’s spent any professional time in a real hospital. “I try my best, but then the emergency phone rings and next thing you know, I’ve worked a fourteen-hour day,” Serena says, and her voice is kind, no edge of mockery to it at all and Bernie relaxes.

“No surprise you need coffee to get through your day, then.” Coffee is a safe topic, Bernie feels. She doesn’t know if she wants Serena to know about the army or her time at Holby or her divorce, or anything. She’s still not sure what she wants to tell people, supposes she’ll have to decide soon enough if she wants to spend any time with Serena in the future.

“It is a blessing indeed. Speaking of - I did actually need a shot of caffeine. Can I get you anything? My treat - repayment for that first one, maybe?” She drops the slightest wink and Bernie feels her face flush, and nods.

“Just a tea, I think,” she gets out, feeling at a loss for words in the face of Serena Campbell’s charms, and Serena smiles.

“Two chais. I can handle that. You’ll have to teach me about all these different types of beans and filters and whatnot someday.” Serena’s hand goes to Bernie’s shoulder as she walks past, a light squeeze, and then it’s gone. Bernie tells herself that it could still all be perfectly platonic, doesn’t want to get her hopes up. But Serena has just promised them a someday.

It’s quiet and Serena is back in a jiffy, and their hands mirror each other, both clasping the cups in front of them. Bernie’s fingers toy with the cardboard sleeve, she’s feeling fidgety and unsure. They sip at the tea quietly, until the silence is broken by Serena’s pager. She glances down at it quickly, mutters something and stands.

“I’m sorry to do this, but I’ve got to rush off. I’ll stop by again sometime?” For the first time, Bernie wonders if Serena is unsure too. She nods, fast and instantaneous. Serena’s eyes soften, she smiles. “Later, then.” And rushes off, leaving Bernie at the table, holding her tea like a lifeline.

“Oi, lovergirl. Break’s over!” Sean yells from behind the counter and Bernie starts, blushes. But can’t deny the truth of it.

\- - -

Bernie carries the high of seeing Serena with her through the weekend, replays her smile, her warm touch on Bernie’s shoulder. She doesn’t believe in love at first sight, never has, but thinks that this feeling, this is as close as she’ll get to it. Tells herself that she shouldn’t get too far ahead of herself, that she doesn’t know anything about Serena, not really.

But she knows that she wants to taste Serena’s lips, that she wants to ruffle Serena’s short hair, making the strands stick up, that she wants to slide her hands along Serena’s back, that she, plain and simply, wants Serena.

She goes shopping, is almost out of milk and needs to get a few other essentials. She’s ordered takeaway for the last three nights, can’t quite excuse herself doing that for a fourth night, not when she has the time to get to the store.

Bernie gets a basket, tries to approach the store logically, not trying to retrace her steps, tries to be efficient about it all. She gets waylaid by produce, hefts apples in her hand, checks for bruises. She looks up at the sound of a very forced laugh coming from near the carrots, and does a double take as she sees Serena.

She’s talking to a man, and Bernie feels her heart sink, ever so slightly. The man is standing close, there’s a familiarity about his movements - he knows Serena, and knows her well. Serena is looking up at him and Bernie can’t quite tell if she’s angry or if there’s something else burbling below the surface, ducks her head down again, finds herself squeezing an apple quite hard in her fingers. She makes herself put in her basket, won’t inflict an apple she bruised herself on someone else.

She walks away from produce, does her best to not look back at Serena and the mystery gentleman, but then hears her name, clear as a bell. “Bernie! There you are!”

She starts, turns around and sees Serena gesturing her over, her eyes wide, telegraphing a request for assistance. Bernie was never one to leave a man behind and troops over dutifully. Serena reaches for her, slides her arm into the the crook of Bernie’s elbow as though it were the most natural thing in the world, places a light kiss to Bernie’s cheek and Bernie knows she’ll remember that feeling forever.

“Edward. This is Bernie,” Serena says and Bernie smiles wanly at the man who is looking at her as though she’s sprouted three heads.

Bernie isn’t sure what role she’s supposed to play here, shifts her weight back and forth slightly. “Nice to meet you,” she manages, figuring that whatever scenario Serena has created in her mind, this will suffice.

“Is it?” Edward asks, and Bernie can actually feel Serena’s eyeroll next to her.

“Didn’t you want to look at the biscuits? We’re almost out, and now that you’ve got the fruit all sorted, we can look at the fun things.” Serena is practically pushing Bernie away from Edward. Bernie offers a shrug, still feels like she’s miles behind where it would be helpful to be, but follows Serena’s lead.

“You’re right, of course. Edward.” She nods smartly to the man, and allows Serena to propel her away towards an aisle far away from produce.

“Ex-husband,” Serena hisses, not bothering to disentangle herself from Bernie. “You saved me from a long lecture on what I’m missing out on.”

Bernie’s heart-sinking feeling is back, because Serena has an ex-husband, and even if she was content to play happy families with Bernie in front of the man she divorced, that means nothing except Serena’s rather vindictive when it comes to revenge.

“Right, well. Happy to help. I, uh, have to get just a few more things on my own list - do you mind if we make a few detours on the way to the biscuits?” Bernie will take this time with Serena, whatever it means in the end.

Serena removes her arm from Bernie’s now, and Bernie feels the loss of it, the warmth that came with it. “Of course.” And they go on their way, as if they did this every weekend, as if it weren’t completely strange for them to be grocery shopping together in the middle of a Saturday, when they didn’t know each other’s last names.

But Bernie learns that Serena has a nephew with a fondness for orange juice - no pulp, and that she has a sweet tooth. Serena pokes fun at just how long Bernie spends looking at the cheeses. And then they do end up getting biscuits, chocolate-covered ones for Serena and almond-flavored ones for Bernie.

Bernie walks Serena to her car, surprised at how natural it all feels, is glad she forced herself off her couch to go to the grocery store, supposes this is some sort of cosmic reward for taking care of herself. Serena loads her bags into the boot, closes it, then leans against the car to look at Bernie.

“Serena Campbell - not sure we’ve been properly introduced,” she says and holds out her hand with a smile.

“Bernie Wolfe,” Bernie answers, and takes the hand in hers. It’s a surgeon’s hand, rough from repeated washing, the nails short and tidy, but it is warm - so warm - and Bernie finds herself lingering on the handshake. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, time finding itself standing still.

And then a horn honks in the distance and Bernie drops Serena’s hand.

“Silly to keep meeting up like this - next time I need a rescue or a caffeine shot, can I just call you?” Serena’s words are out there, dangling between them and Bernie finds herself staring, and then a smile forms on her lips. She digs for her phone in her bag, her fingers touching the yellow note from days before - she hasn’t taken it out of her bag yet. Serena puts in her phone number and passes it back.

Bernie doesn’t wait two seconds after getting in her car before texting, “Hi.”


	3. float a little above this difficult world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a song called "christmas at the airport," which is truly terrible, but i've been singing it in my head all morning as "fanfiction at the airport" so that tells you my life story today.

_Still, what I want in my life_  
_is to be willing_  
_to be dazzled_

Mary Oliver (The Ponds)

 

Bernie has never been very good with texting, or technology in general. She’s a hunt and peck kind of typist, and has a similar approach when sending messages from her phone. She takes a minute to ask how Serena’s day is going, thankful every moment for the invention of autocorrect, and gets a response quick as you please saying it’s going well.

Bernie wonders what it would have been like if they’d met when they were younger, when they’d be dependent on phone calls and meeting up in person. It’s so easy to feel like they’re getting to know each other, but all Bernie really feels is that she has learnt Serena’s work schedule by heart, and a little more about the ins and outs of Holby Hospital than she picked up from her brief stint as a patient.

She finally suggests they go out, do something together in person, knows Serena takes off work early on Wednesdays. There’s a silly movie playing at the local theater, Bernie likes the taste of movie theater popcorn, likes when a date (or a platonic outing, she tells herself) has a component that can help facilitate conversation if there’s a lull. Serena’s response comes quickly - “I’d love to.” Bernie rides that high for the rest of the day.

She’s wiping off the counter on Wednesday, her last clean-up before she’s clear to go for the afternoon, and she feels a buzz in her pocket. She didn’t used to bring her phone on the floor with her, didn’t need the temptation to look at it, didn’t used to have a reason to look at it during a shift, really. Owen never said anything her to about cell phones at work, and she never asked, wonders if he’d feel like he was scolding his mum if he had to tell her to leave her phone in the back room. She finishes the task at hand, tells Sean that she’s headed out. He gives her a wink, knows she’s going to a movie with Serena, hasn’t stopped ribbing her about it since Serena popped up that one day and left a message for her.

She’s taking her apron off in the backroom, pulling her phone out of her back pocket simultaneously, and slides to see the text from Serena. “Emergency surgery, can we reschedule?” Bernie’s heart sinks, is sorry she has nothing else planned for the rest of the day. She taps out her response, is free every evening this week, even the weekend, if that works best. Serena doesn’t answer, Bernie expects she’s already scrubbing in, tries not to think of the water sluicing off Serena’s elegant hands, of those delicate fingers tying the ends of her scrub cap behind her head.

She has to spend a lot of time telling herself not to think about Serena Campbell, and fails miserably at it frequently. She hasn’t felt a spark in a while, hasn’t wanted anyone in a while. But this surgeon, who is still mostly a mystery, has captivated Bernie, and she’s never been good at leaving puzzles unsolved.

It’s late, much later, when her phone buzzes again, this time with Serena asking if they can meet up for lunch on Saturday. Bernie quickly accepts, doesn’t even think about it. When the notification comes up ‘delivered,’ she sets the phone down, thinks about what lunch means. Lunch is a commitment. It’s not a late night drink that she could leave early from with an excuse about getting up early. It’s not breakfast, which can be gotten out of with the reasoning that there’s a to-do list to accomplish for the day. It’s smack-dab right in the middle of the afternoon, with time enough beforehand that she could’ve accomplished everything she needed to, and nothing but the rest of the day stretching before her. She finds she doesn’t really mind, wonders if Serena even put that much thought into it, doubts that she did.

She texts to ask how the surgery went, and all she gets back is “As well as it could’ve,” so she knows Serena’s had a bad day, wishes that she knew how to fix it. Bernie wonders what Serena likes after a long, hard day. Imagines a glass of red wine, a comfortable, well-worn hoodie, maybe a book, or maybe the white noise of a quiz show on television. The domestic nature of her daydreams makes her heart clench a little, as she throws away old takeaway containers and sifts through unfolded laundry to find clothes for the day.

\- - -

Serena finds herself counting down the hours until Saturday. She likes work, loves it even, doesn’t get bored with it. But with the prospect of seeing Bernie, she finds her day-to-day dragging, dull. Not even an exciting surgery to put a pep in her step. Not that, of course, she’d wish ill on anyone just to have a good time in theatre.

Wednesday had been a hard day; the patient had died, and not because of anything anyone did or didn’t do. Those were always the hardest to take, the impossibles, the endless if onlys for things she had no control over. She tries not to dwell on the failures, has been at this long enough that it would be too overwhelming if she did. So she goes home to Jason, pours herself a glass of wine, and curls up on the couch while Jason plays Countdown, tries to make a show of guessing at words, but wishes, just for an instant, that she had the house to herself. But then Jason makes a joke and Serena’s world is righted again, and she smiles for the first time in hours.

So she waits patiently for Saturday, plans out what she’ll wear, makes sure the lipstick she’s chosen isn’t too garish, doesn’t clash with her blouse. She tries to come up with suave opening lines, wonders if she’ll be brave enough to try and kiss Bernie’s cheek in greeting. Serena’s never been more than friends with a woman, but she’d kissed girls at parties when she was at university, had even found herself with her hand up another girl’s blouse late one evening, but doesn’t remember her name, barely remembers the friend who hosted the shindig. So she’s pleasantly surprised at the twinge of affection, the shock of attraction, that she feels towards Bernie Wolfe. It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome. She wonders if Bernie knows, gets the sense Bernie would be less surprised to be attracted to a woman, but isn’t sure why she feels that way.

She thinks, probably, that Bernie is assuming she’s straight - she does have an ex-husband already. But she’d kissed Bernie’s cheek, entwined their arms, and held her hand for far too long in the parking lot. Those are the signs she knows how to give, hopes they’re enough for the enigmatic barista.

It is a great disappointment, then, when Bernie texts her late on Friday to say that she’s been asked to cover an all-day shift, that they’ll have to reschedule again. Serena tentatively offers Saturday evening - that movie they’d almost gone to see is still playing, but Bernie begs off for that night, suggests Sunday evening instead.

Normally Serena tries not to be out late when she has to get to work early in the morning. Jason doesn’t like it, either, if she’s not home at a reasonable hour. He’s left her pointed notes to please make sure that she doesn’t make them late, that he shouldn’t have to suffer because of her poor planning. But she thinks a cross note is worth it, thinks she might even get a cup of coffee at Grasshopper before she goes into work for the extra jolt of caffeine, thinks the barista might even give it to her with a wink.

So she spends her Saturday off lolling around her house, feeling sorry for herself that she’s not at lunch with an attractive woman, and lets Jason watch whatever documentary he likes on the television, which means she’s watching the one about explosives in World War II for the fifth time.

Sunday arrives, and passes quickly, far more quickly than Serena would have guessed, for how much she’s been anticipating the evening. She’s dressed in a new blouse and put on make-up, more than usual. Jason comments at the ugliness of the blouse and the make-up that’s crusted in her brow lines. With those hearty blows to her ego, Serena steps out into the night, gets into her car, and drives to the cinema.

Bernie’s waiting outside, an unlit cigarette dangling from her mouth, and Serena, doctor though she is, finds the sight altogether too alluring. She parks, walks up to Bernie with a confidence she isn’t quite sure she feels, and leans in to kiss Bernie’s cheek. Her subconscious must have decided she was brave enough. Bernie’s face is flushed at the close contact, and Serena only moves her face away slightly, their noses almost touching now. Bernie reaches up and oh-so-delicately touches Serena’s cheek.

“Eyelash,” she explains, holding out her finger, and sure enough, there’s a thin black hair resting there. Serena, feeling foolish and young and reckless, blows it off, her lips pursed and almost touching Bernie’s hand.

“I made a wish,” she says, and then Bernie laughs, the sound a surprise. It’s loud, and Bernie’s hand goes to cover her mouth, but nothing can mask the honking sound. Serena decides she likes it, decides it makes this woman a little more human.

“I’ve got the tickets already - we can just go in,” Bernie says, and Serena finds herself linking up their arms again, natural as you please, and allows Bernie to walk them into the movie.

\- - -

They get a bucket of popcorn, with unhealthy fake butter slathered on it. It’s cold, and Serena tells Bernie that in America, the popcorn is much better, light and hot and salty. She tells Bernie that she went to Harvard, that on weekends, they’d escape campus and see whatever romantic comedy was playing.

Bernie, for her part, can’t quite believe what’s happened so far this evening. Serena’s lips against her cheek, not prompted by ex-husbands or any sort of false dating scenario, are a thing to be treasured.

The movie is as silly as they’d both predicted, but there’s an air of tension now, between them. When their hands meet over the popcorn as they both go for a handful at the same time, there’s a frisson that goes through Bernie, and she looks over and smiles at Serena, who is very studiously not looking at Bernie. She thinks, if this were a second or third date (because Bernie thinks, now, that this is a date), she’d be kissing Serena now, and they would have sat themselves in the back of the theater. But they’re in the middle, the very middle, because Serena said that’s where she likes to sit, and there are people around, and Bernie feels shy in the strangest places.

She settles for gentle touches and shoulder bumps when the plot is especially ridiculous, thinks that this is all right, this is good.

After the movie, they linger outside the cinema, neither quite ready for this night to end. “Coffee?” Serena asks, with a laugh, “Unless you need a break from the stuff.”

“How about wine - there’s a nice little spot a block down.” Bernie sees the creases around Serena’s mouth deepen at the suggestion of wine, and finds their arms linked once more as they walk towards their destination. She enjoys the feeling of Serena so close, of the warmth filling the space between their bodies. She’s loathe to let it go when they step inside the warm restaurant, when they head to the bar.

“So...is that the kind of movie you see often?” Serena asks, when they both have glasses in front of them, red for Serena, white for Bernie.

Bernie huffs a laugh. “No, it’s the kind of movie I see when I don’t know what else to do for a first date.” And there it is, hanging between them. Bernie can’t bite back the words now, she’s acknowledged that she’s thinking of this as a date. Serena only smiles, grabs onto Bernie’s hand where it’s resting on the bar.

“Next time, let’s skip the movie and go straight to wine.” Her voice is low, conspiratorial, and Bernie feels a flush go through her body as Serena’s eyes darken, flick down to Bernie’s lips. She can’t help it, her tongue darts out involuntarily and wets her lower lip and Serena’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

Bernie doesn’t remember how they pass the time at the bar, just knows that they both finish their drinks in record time, and that Serena half pulls her back out into the street, finds an alcove to tuck them into, and her mouth is on Bernie’s.

Bernie hasn’t been kissed like this in a while. Serena’s hands are everywhere, sliding along her back, tangling in her hair, doing everything they can to keep Bernie as close as possible. Not that Bernie is resisting. Far from it. She’s slipped her tongue into Serena’s mouth, enjoys the sound Serena makes at that. Serena is full of noises, actually, small moans and hums, and Bernie is grateful the street isn’t very crowded.

Then Serena gives her a little nip, a bite, on her collarbone, and Bernie thinks she’ll have to wear a high-necked shirt tomorrow, or a scarf. Wonders what Sean will say about it. Finds she doesn’t care, because she’s going to have the imprint of Serena’s teeth on her skin, and that feels like she’s just been made a Dame of the British Empire.

\- - -

Serena makes a point to go to Grasshopper the next day. Her lips feel swollen, well-kissed. She can’t stop touching them, can’t stop thinking about Bernie’s mouth on hers, about their bodies pressed together, how her whole body thrummed with want. How sorry she was when Bernie pulled away regretfully, said she had to work early.

So she heads to the coffee shop in the morning, after dropping Jason off, and is happy to see that she’s caught the end of the morning rush, that it’s almost as empty as the first time she came in. Bernie looks up from the cash register and her whole face changes, glows. Serena feels her own face soften as she smiles at Bernie.

A wolf whistle sounds from behind her, and she turns to see the other barista, the one who always seems to work with Bernie, wiping down a table and waggling his eyebrows at her in a very undignified way. Bernie’s gaze drops, her face red, and Serena resists making an obscene gesture at the young man.

“What would you like?” Bernie asks, and Serena just shrugs with a quixotic smile, raising her eyebrows just slightly, a suggestion, a hint, an overture. Bernie shakes her head with a grin. “No, I’m serious. Tea? Coffee?”

“Oh, you pick. What got you out of bed this morning, all chipper and ready for work? Give me that.” Bernie smiles, obliges, and Serena moves down the counter with her. “What’s that about?” she asks tipping her head in the direction of Sean, who has mostly given up the pretense of washing the tables and is now just looking at them.

“He saw, um, he saw my bruise,” Bernie says, her hand self-consciously drifting to her collarbone, gently touching it through her shirt.

“How? You’re practically dressed like a nun today.” Serena isn’t embarrassed, in fact she likes that Bernie has this reminder of her to walk around with all day - maybe even all week (though she doesn’t think she bit _that_ hard).

“I ran here, and he walked in on me changing my top,” Bernie mumbles, and Serena thinks that of course she ran here, of course they’d stayed out late and had wine, and she not only got up early enough to get to work, but early enough to go for a bloody run. She hopes Bernie isn’t the kind of runner who tries to get other people to go running all the time, couldn’t bear it if that’s the case.

“Well, then I’d say he owes you a break, maybe fifteen minutes or so?” Serena is persistent, and dogged when she knows what she wants. Right now what she wants is time with Bernie. She still knows almost nothing about her, except what she tastes like, underneath wine and popcorn, and that she has a real affinity for moldy cheeses. Everything else about her is unknown. It is both exciting and infuriating.

Bernie grins, puts the finishing touch on the coffee - something Serena might guess was a flower, if she was being kind, drawn in the foam, and walks out from behind the counter.

Bernie goes over to Sean, says something to him, and he straightens up quickly, takes his rag and heads to the post Bernie just vacated. Bernie sits down at the table, pushes the other chair out with her foot, waiting for Serena to join her.

Which she does, quickly.

\- - -

Serena is animated when she talks, Bernie likes watching her hands flit about as she’s explaining things. She’s talking about a surgery, going into more detail than she might if she knew Bernie’s background as an army medic and trauma surgeon, but Bernie likes hearing her say the complicated words, the medical terminology, almost finds herself feeling nostalgic about it.

But she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer an information about her medical knowledge, lets Serena make whatever assumptions she will, only says she was discharged from the army after an IED exploded, shows Serena the top of her scar, pulling her shirt down slightly to show it. Serena says something about how she can’t believe she missed it last night, and Bernie finds herself blushing again. She blushes in Serena’s company more than she ever has in her entire life, she thinks. More than when she started dating Marcus, more than in her stolen moments with Alex.

Bernie tells Serena about Cameron and Charlotte, about her failed marriage. Serena laughs that off, says Bernie can join the embittered ex-wives club, doesn’t say anything about the fact that the marriage failed due to Bernie’s infidelity - with a woman, no less. “Being away from your family must have been challenging,” is all Serena offers, and Bernie thinks she might understand, at least a little. Medical school, and becoming a top vascular surgeon doesn’t come without sacrifice either.

Serena has a daughter too, Bernie learns, about the same age as Charlotte. Her name is Elinor, and Serena finds her challenging and difficult and headstrong, but Bernie can also hear the love in her voice when she talks about her, thinks Serena must be the most wonderful mother. Serena tells her about her nephew, Jason, who is challenging and difficult and headstrong in an entirely different way, but there’s no less love when Serena tells stories of watching quiz shows and making shepherd’s pie.

They’ve talked for much longer than the fifteen minutes Bernie had originally allotted, but the cafe is quiet, and Sean is leaving them alone. Bernie checks her watch, sees that too much time has passed. Serena, too, starts at the time, says she’ll just barely make it on time if she leaves in the next five minutes.

“What _did_ you say to Sean to get him to leave us alone?” Serena asks, leaning into Bernie as they walk towards the door.

Bernie smiles her small, tight smile. She isn’t prone to wide, toothy grins. “Just said that if he wasn’t careful, I’d have a talk with Owen to make sure he had to open every Saturday and Sunday for a month.” Serena chuckles, and Bernie wishes she had something funnier, more salacious that she’d whispered to Sean, but she doesn’t, and she didn’t, so she just contents herself with kissing Serena lightly on the lips and wishing her a good day.

Sean doesn’t say anything when she comes back behind the counter, but his ears are pink, and Bernie wonders if he’s ever seen two women kiss before.

\- - -

Serena starts spending her spare moments in the coffee shop. Darting in before work, stopping in at her lunch break, grateful it’s not too far from the hospital. They both have schedules that are mostly set, but there’s always room for fluctuations, so it’s hard to see each other. Serena makes time where she can.

Then one day, she has a whole afternoon off, and Jason does too, and it strikes her that Bernie hasn’t met Jason yet, thinks it’s important that they meet at some point. She decides, of an instant, that today might as well be that day. She checks with Jason, makes sure he doesn’t mind that they go to a different place for coffee, promises they have tea there too, and he’s amenable enough to the change in schedule.

Bernie’s just getting off for the day when they come in, Serena knows. She’s memorized Bernie’s schedule as well as she can, sometimes texts Bernie for reminders of when she works and when she gets breaks, and all of the little details that she thinks she should write down somewhere. Bernie smiles when she sees Serena, then her face looks a little uncertain as she spots Jason, and suddenly Serena wonders if this is too much, if it’s too soon. But whatever emotion flicked across Bernie’s face is gone now, and she heads over to them.

The three of them sit at a table, Bernie’s thigh touching Serena’s under the table. Her hands are fidgeting on the tabletop, and Serena reaches out to still the movement. “Jason, this is Bernie. She and I have been, well, we’ve been seeing each other.” She thinks she could have planned this conversation better, but Jason had been dropping hints that it was silly that he had a girlfriend and Serena had yet to find anyone, so she knows he’s fine with the basic concept of her dating, doesn’t know how he’ll deal with the idea that she’s dating a woman.

But Jason takes it in stride, looks at Serena, then looks at Bernie, long and hard. “Auntie Serena mentioned you in passing the other day. When she said Bernie, I thought you’d be an old man.” His frankness startles a laugh out of Bernie, and Serena relaxes, no longer feels like this might be a mistake.

She leaves them to talk, goes to get drinks from the counter. Owen, who knows her by now, tries to make small talk, but Serena is preoccupied, staring at Bernie and Jason. There’s no lull in the conversation, it looks like, and Bernie is giving as good as she gets. Jason has pulled out his notebook, writing things down, and Serena can only imagine what it is they’re saying to each other. Owen waves her off, says he’ll bring it all over to them when it’s ready.

So she sits back down with Bernie and Jason, and joins them mid-discussion about World’s Strongest Man. Bernie is familiar. “I had a lot of time on my hands when I was recovering from surgery, and there’s not much on, sometimes.” Jason had been consulting his notes about the 2015 competition - that’s why he’d pulled out his notebook.

“What did you have surgery for?” Jason asks, looking at Bernie with a hard stare.

“I got caught in an explosion and needed some patching up.” Serena notices that Bernie downplays her injury, never makes it sound truly bad, but has seen the scar, remembers hearing something about it when it happened. Boring, run-of-the-mill surgeries don’t make their way through the grapevine, so she knows it’s more serious than Bernie lets on.

“What were you doing when the explosion happened?” Jason is far more inquisitive about it than Serena has been - she’s sensed a bit of a wall from Bernie whenever the topic comes up. Bernie looks furtively at Serena, her eyes darting back and forth between aunt and nephew.

“I was in the army, a medic - doing trauma surgeries.” And she looks at Serena sheepishly. Serena’s mouth drops open. All this time, she’s talked about patients and surgeries, dumbed down everything because she thought she was talking to layperson with no knowledge of anything medical. She feels betrayed, slightly, that Bernie would keep this from her. They’ve spent time together, talked about their children, talked about their lives, and Bernie had always skated over education, how she ended up in the military.

“Oh, Jason, we’ve got to run - I’ve forgotten to get the fixings for shepherd’s pie,” Serena says, standing quickly, the chair making a godawful noise as she pushes it back. Bernie opens her mouth to say something, but Serena doesn’t know what she would want to hear, what would make it better, can’t even say why she’s angry, upset, only that she is.

“I’ll see you, Bernie,” she says, and walks out of the coffee shop without a second look, trusting Jason to follow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, drama in this gentle little AU


	4. building the universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the rating change

_How great was its energy,_   
_how humble its effort._

Mary Oliver (Song of the Builders)

 

Bernie finds herself alone with her thoughts again. Serena has gone dark, stopped calling or texting, stopped visiting the coffee shop. And now Bernie, with nothing else to focus on but her failures, finds herself thinking too much.

She wonders when she should have told Serena about her medical background, if it should have been at the very first opportunity. She feels embarrassment, a little, a fully trained trauma surgeon working at a coffee shop, thinks she wouldn’t have said anything right away, even if she knew it would ameliorate the situation she finds herself in now.

She thinks about her children, wonders when she should have been honest with them. Decides the root of everything is that she isn’t honest soon enough. Shoulders that blame willingly. She’s good at that. But she bears up to responsibility, too much of the time, perhaps, and goes about trying to fix the problems she’s made.

She sends an email to Cam and to Charlotte, just an apology, a wish to talk, a promise of a free coffee if they want to come round to Grasshopper. Neither responds, and she supposes that’s fair. She never got Serena’s email address, thinks email is easier, the sending off of her words into the void. She’d never see three dots spooling at the bottom of a text message if she could send an email instead, she’d be able to let the tension go of whether or not the message was delivered or read, or any other information her infernal mobile would try to tell her about it.

In the end, she does send a text message. “I’m sorry,” she types out. “How can I fix this?” It’s unfair, really, to make Serena tell her how to fix it, but Bernie’s had a world of experience breaking things, and not much in making them better. She gets nothing back, and it’s no more than she expects.

A week goes by, and it’s nothing but radio silence from everyone. Bernie feels stir-crazy, waiting for responses, waiting for some form of recognition. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be invisible, to travel through the world unseen. She thinks about texting Serena again, thinks about what to say. “I miss you,” she types out, then deletes it before she can press send. “Can I bring you a coffee sometime?” is what she sends to Serena instead, an olive branch, a hope that Serena will allow herself to be seen by Bernie.

Thirty minutes later, her phone buzzes in her back pocket. She slides her thumb across the screen, reads a text from Jason on Serena’s phone. “Auntie Serena is feeling under the weather, maybe tea would be preferred,” followed by the address to Serena Campbell’s home. She wonders if Serena knows that her nephew has sent this information. Thinks she’s lucky that he responded at all. She’s done with work for the day, but stops by Grasshopper anyway, and Sean gives her a very large cup of tea and two pain au chocolats, all accompanied with a wink. “Time to make nice, eh?” he says, and Bernie can only nod, because that’s what this is all about.

She drives to Serena’s, mindful of the speed limit but only just. She parks in front of a small two-story, with a carefully maintained lawn and window boxes on the ground floor. It’s cheery, homey, and Bernie thinks she never had this, not when she was growing up, and not for her children either. This is a home, this is somewhere that housed a family. She stares at it for a while longer, tries to imagine the inside, knows instinctively that it will be cozy and warm, just like Serena.

She knocks on the door, holding the tea and the pastries with a firm grip, knowing that her hands might shake if they weren’t holding on to precious cargo. Jason answers the door, peers at her. “Dr. Bernie,” he says, opening the screen to allow her access. She supposes the title is appropriate, is familiar with his need to classify things. She has a medical background and whether or not she is working in that field, she is a doctor. It’s right, then, that Jason should see her that way.

“Hello, Jason,” she says, feeling suddenly shy. The hallway is dim, sunlight coming in through the door, shoes neatly lined up on a mat. She slips out of her own shoes, hopes it isn’t too forward of her. Jason nods approvingly and leads her into the house.

“Auntie Serena is upstairs, she might be sleeping. I haven’t seen her in a few hours.” He gestures towards the stairs, his glance flitting towards the living room, where Bernie can see that he’s paused an episode of QI. She knows he’s probably keen to get back to it, so she heads towards the upper floors and hears Jason call “End of the hall,” to her as she walks up the staircase.

There’s a slightly open door, revealing a small bathroom, just a shower, sink and toilet. Bernie can see it’s all meticulously organized, would bet that Jason is the primary user. The door opposite is pulled closed, and is labeled as Jason’s room with a small plaque on the wood. She knows better than to snoop, so moves to the door at the end of the hall, open with just the slimmest crack. She knocks ever so gently, cranes her ears to hear if there’s any noise of admittance. She knocks again, allowing the door to open just a sliver more.

“Jason, if that’s you and you need something, please just call Alan. I feel like Death herself,” a hoarse voice emanates from the general direction of the bed, and Bernie supposes this is her moment and opens the door more fully.

“It’s me,” she says, and wonders if she can say that, if they’re at a place where she can say “me” and Serena will know who it is. She fidgets slightly, shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and Serena emerges from her cocoon of duvet and sheets, her hair unkempt, her eyes red, her nose pink.

“Bernie,” she says softly, her voice still croaky and weak. Bernie feels the corners of her mouth tip up, feels her eyes mirror that movement, and she moves towards Serena, kneels next to the bed.   
  
“Jason thought you might like some tea. And I thought you might like some chocolate.” She holds up both of her peace offerings, and Serena takes the tea, breathes in its scent. Bernie can’t stop herself from reaching up to brush back Serena’s hair from her forehead, wiping at her brow. Notes the high temperature of Serena’s skin. Serena stills at the contact, and Bernie withdraws her hand.

“Would you like a medical professional to have a look at you?” she asks cautiously, because she isn’t sure they’re going to be able to joke about this, but Serena softens, pats the empty side of the bed next to her. Bernie sheds her jacket, and walks around the bed, pulls the covers up around Serena once more, tucks the duvet under her armpits so she can still drink her tea, and sits next to her, on top of all the covers.

“What’s your prognosis?” Serena says, cutting her eyes sideways at Bernie. Bernie offers a half-hearted shrug.

“Fever, definitely. Contagious, not sure, but willing to take the risk. I recommend further bedrest and lots of sleep.” Serena smiles then, fully, and Bernie feels her heart stop. She sets the tea on her bedside table, pulls her arms underneath the covers and turns on her side, facing away from Bernie. Bernie feels as if she’s being dismissed, starts to move off the bed when Serena reaches back and catches Bernie’s hand.

“There’s some old wive’s tale about sweating out a fever. I doubt I can accomplish that with just my duvet, might need some extra warmth from somewhere,” she says, and Bernie’s breath catches, because Serena is brave and kind and is trying to make this easier. So Bernie slides down onto her side, pulls Serena in close, cradles her warm body, places a kiss at her temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” she promises, because it’s the least she can do. Serena hums her agreement, nestles into their embrace, and Bernie finds herself content.

\- - -

Serena starts awake, the dim light of dusk filtering into her room. She feels...better. She’s warm still, but comfortably so. And then she remembers that Bernie is here, with her. Their hands are entangled, and Serena feels secure in a way she hasn’t felt in some time.  She’s still upset with Bernie, still unsure of where they stand, but blames her feverish state for allowing Bernie to get into bed with her.

“How’re you feeling?” Bernie’s voice comes from over her shoulder, and Serena feels the vibration down her spine. She loosens her grip on Bernie’s fingers, rolls over under the covers to face her erstwhile physician.

“More like me,” she says, and Bernie’s sleep-lined face softens. “Like me enough to ask why you lied about what it is you really do.” And then Bernie’s face hardens again, her eyes distant. Serena wants to regret pushing on this issue, but finds that it’s important enough to her to keep poking the bear. Or the wolf, as it were.

“I don’t do medicine any more. Well, I haven’t. Not since I got blown up in that explosion. Not since I lost my commission. I don’t know…” she trails off and Serena wants to comfort her, wants to reach out, but thinks Bernie might to do this on her own, too. So she waits out the silence, waits for Bernie to come to her. She thinks Bernie might be the kind of person who will always come back, when given the time and space she needs. “I didn’t know how to be, without the army. Working as a barista, that was a way to pass the time. And then I met you, and it all seemed too much to explain. I didn’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have it,” Serena says, her tone clipped, and it’s true. “You’re very much allowed to not know what it is you want to do with yourself, but you’re very much _not_ allowed to lie to me about it, not any longer.” Bernie’s face colors and she pulls back from Serena a little, but Serena isn’t having that either, grabs onto her hand again. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re the world’s best trauma surgeon or the world’s worst coffee artist, I just want you to tell me things.”

Bernie seems to accept this. “I think I’m both of those things, then,” she says, “although ‘world’s best’ might be a bit of a stretch.” Serena laughs, pulls Bernie back, kisses her right on the mouth, germs and sickness be damned. She doesn’t think she’s contagious anyway.

It’s late in the day, not too late for dinner, so Serena bundles up in an old hoodie and comfy sweats, and she and Bernie go downstairs, where Jason is watching a different episode of QI. He’s eating fish and chips, something he’s learned to get for himself if Serena is unavailable. She stops by the couch, drops a gentle hand to his shoulder. “All right, Jason?” she asks and Jason nods, his attention focused on the television. She resists the urge to kiss his head, the way she would’ve done with Elinor, and goes into the kitchen.

Bernie follows, and Serena begins taking out pots and pans, digging through the refrigerator and the cupboards for ingredients. “You’ve been in bed for at least a day, Serena,” Bernie offers. “Why not let me make you something? Or we can order something.” If Serena had to guess, she wouldn’t peg Bernie as a good cook, thinks it might be safe to order takeaway instead.

It ends up that Bernie runs out to get soup and sandwiches, is tasked with getting Serena some essentials as well, more tissues and cough syrup, and a pulpy romance novel to read because her head is too fuzzy to appreciate anything more complex than that.

Serena joins Jason in the living room, curls up under a blanket and enjoys the familiar sound of him guessing answers and enjoying the comedy of it all. She may have closed her eyes, because the next moment, Bernie is sitting beside her, an arm around her shoulders, two bowls of steaming soup on the table in front of her.

Bernie leans forward, dislodging her arm from around Serena, and Serena finds herself missing the contact, though she was barely aware of it, and hands Serena a bowl and a spoon. “Must keep your strength up,” Bernie says and Serena thinks about a million inappropriate responses to that, but settles for a brief wink that makes Bernie chuckle.

Jason shushes them, asks that they please wait for the ad break to engage in any flirting, and Serena’s face flushes at that. But she complies, spoons broth into her mouth, and allows herself to be cared for by Bernie Wolfe.

\- - -

Bernie tells Serena about emailing her children, anticipates Serena saying something along the lines of “well, what did you expect?” but what she gets instead is a gentle hug, and a murmur that they will talk to her when they’re ready. “You’re their mum, Bernie. They just need time. They take after you, after all,” she says, and Bernie supposes she’s right.

They settle back into their routine with relative ease, the knowledge of Bernie’s other life as a surgeon sitting between them. They don’t talk about it much, but Bernie gets the sense that Serena is just waiting for the appropriate time.

Serena decides the perfect time to talk about Bernie’s future in medicine is when they are out to dinner, candles and low light and stealing food off each other’s plates. Their knees touch under the table, and when Serena sets down her wine glass, it’s with a glint in her eye that Bernie knows heralds trouble.

“There’s room for a trauma surgeon on AAU,” she says, without preamble, and Bernie’s pasta-laden fork stops on its journey towards her mouth. “My boss, Henrik Hanssen, has intimated that there’s a need for new, more efficient procedures. Better training. More than intimated that I might need some assistance in running my ward, the nerve.” She is offended by the idea that she can’t run her own ward, Bernie can tell, but she can also see that Serena is proud of herself for finding this solution to what she thinks of as Bernie’s problems.

Bernie’s mind races through all possible responses - what if they hate working together, what if she is too out of practice to do the things that need to be done, what if all she’s good for now is drawing leaves in coffee foam, why does Serena feel like this is her problem to fix, who says there’s a problem anyway, why shouldn’t she spend the rest of her days in a coffee shop, what if they can’t work together and everything is ruined.

She feels frustrated, unable to express what she feels. “Am I not good enough for you?” is what she asks, even though it’s not really what she means. And then she looks at Serena, eyes shining with affection and care, her whole face alight with her fondness for Bernie. Serena reaches out to touch Bernie’s hand, lightly, and shakes her head.

“I just want you to be happy. If you tell me that working at Grasshopper is the happiest you’ve ever been, then we’ll leave it at that.” Bernie thinks about it, thinks that working in a coffee shop was only wonderful because it’s how she met Serena, but knows she’ll never say those words out loud.

“What if you hate working with me?” Bernie asks, because that’s what scares her the most. She knows she’s a good surgeon, knows her cool head in emergencies hasn’t abandoned her, knows she could do the work. Besides, working at the coffee shop has started to wear on her, she can’t deny that. It started as an escape from her dull and empty reality, and now it’s simply drudge work, something that she does just to pass the time.

“As long as you keep the mess to your side of the office, I think we’ll manage just fine,” Serena says lightly. “Shall I talk to Henrik, then?” Bernie can only nod, because why not. It seems easy, too easy, even, but if she’s learned anything about Serena Campbell, it’s that she’s dogged in her pursuit of what she wants. She thinks Serena must have weighed these pros and cons as well, otherwise she never would have brought the suggestion to Bernie’s attention at all. She wonders how much this Henrik knows, if Serena’s already brought up her name to this man.

It’s ridiculous, really, how quickly her future has fallen into place. She didn’t have to do anything, not really. Serena handed her happiness on a silver platter, without asking for anything in return.

\- - -

Bernie seems intent on showing Serena her gratitude by kissing her senseless. Jason is away for the night, and Bernie has, apparently, decided to take advantage of it, pushing Serena against the wall of hallway the moment the door closes after them. She’s holding Serena’s hands on either side of her head, kissing her with purpose and skill, detouring from her mouth to kiss her jaw, her neck, her clavicle. She surges back to Serena’s mouth, and drops her hold on Serena’s hands, letting her hands go into Serena’s hair.

Serena, for her part, tries to catch up, sliding her hands along Bernie’s back, holding her close, pulling her closer, keeping their bodies flush. She tugs on the belt loops of Bernie’s jeans, and Bernie lets out a grunt at the movement. When she pulls back, there’s intent in her eyes that Serena hasn’t seen before. She takes Bernie’s hand, takes Bernie to her bedroom, doesn’t even stop to wonder at how far they’ve come in such a short amount of time.

Serena unbuttons Bernie’s blouse carefully, breathing in the scent of coffee and pastry that clings to her, bares her skin, pale and warm and freckled. She crosses her arms, pulls her own top off, wishes briefly she’d thought to put on a matching set of underwear before meeting up for dinner, but from the look in Bernie’s eye, she doesn’t really mind the black bra, even as Serena bares her plain white knickers, pulling down her trousers and stepping out of them, Bernie mirroring her movements.

They stand for a moment, looking at each other, naked save for bras and pants. Bernie looks delicate, standing there in the darkened room, the only light from the moon shining through the windows. She is thin and fair, and her hair is like gossamer and Serena’s breath catches in her throat. She touches the strap of Bernie’s bra, slides her forefinger underneath the elastic, pulls it down her shoulder. Bernie’s mouth is open slightly, the only movement is her eyes, tracking Serena’s movements.

Serena thinks that Bernie is letting her take the lead because she’s still paying penance for not being honest about her past, wonders if Bernie will ever forgive herself for that, even though it’s all ended up just fine. They’re here, in front of each other after all. She wonders if Bernie will think she owes Serena something for this job, if she’ll think she’s in Serena’s debt, that she’s a charity case.

Serena doesn’t have time for pity, or for doing things out of a sense of obligation. If she’s going to do something, it’s because she’s weighed the pros and cons and decided it’s the best course of action. Bernie Wolfe coming on to AAU is the best course of action, because it gives her a co-lead she can trust, gives her more time to spend with Bernie, and gets Henrik off her back as they try to sort out a trauma bay.

Instead of saying this to Bernie, Serena kisses her, long and deep, her hands unclasping Bernie’s bra, her fingers dancing down her spine. And then Bernie pulls them backwards onto the bed, her strength evident. Not so delicate, Serena knows. And they’re laying, face to face, noses almost touching, breath mingling, just staring into each other’s eyes.

Bernie’s hand maps the planes of Serena’s body, and Serena feels tingly and warm and alive, twitching as Bernie hits a particularly sensitive spot, but reassures her that the touch is not unwelcome. Her whole body is becoming a particularly sensitive spot under these ministrations.

Bernie’s hand pushes aside Serena’s knickers, pushes them down her legs, cups her, tangles in the coarse hair there. Serena gasps at the contact, kisses Bernie by way of encouragement, and then Bernie’s sliding one finger, then a second, inside of her. She rocks into it, and then Bernie’s thumb begins circling her clit, and it’s all feeling like too much, in the best possible way.

Serena comes, soon, sooner than she’s used to. She doesn’t want to oversell it, but there’s something about Bernie that keys her up in a completely different way than she’s used to. Bernie licks her hand, licks Serena from her fingers, and Serena can’t stop watching the movement of Bernie’s tongue. She pushes a thigh in between Bernie’s legs, levers herself slightly above her, kisses her, swirls her tongue in the taste that is both her and Bernie, and Bernie ruts against her leg, the friction getting her wet, and Serena enjoys the feeling of it, the knowledge that Bernie is reacting just as strongly to her.

She moves her way down Bernie’s body, counting the freckles, the moles, until she loses track. She takes a nipple into her mouth, sucks and nips and Bernie arches up into it. Serena is nothing if not fair, and administers the same treatment to her other breast, before abandoning them both to kiss a trail down her abdomen. It’s her turn to push aside Bernie’s knickers, to shove them down. She thinks she hears a rip, but can’t be bothered to care. She eases a finger inside Bernie, then another, and Bernie is panting, impatient, and then Serena licks Bernie, her tongue strong and purposeful. Bernie grunts at that, and Serena goes in again, swirling and tonguing her sensitive flesh, and Bernie’s hands are fisting in the sheets, and her whole body goes taut, then slack, and Serena moves back up the bed, holds Bernie close, nuzzles her face into Bernie’s neck, and Bernie, boneless with pleasure, falls asleep in Serena’s arms.

\- - -

Bernie wakes first, smiles at Serena’s face, soft in sleep, her brow relaxed. She runs a finger down her nose, a straight trail across her lips, down to the cleft in her chin. Thinks that maybe, just maybe, it will be all right to wake up with this woman, to work with this woman, to go home with this woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who knows, right? who. even. knows.


	5. i would like to give you this chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why is this chapter the longest one? who even knows.

_And someone's face, whom you love, will be as a star  
_ _both intimate and ultimate_

Mary Oliver (To Begin With, the Sweet Grass)

 

Bernie gives her two week’s notice at Grasshopper with no small amount of trepidation. She’s never been a quitter, not in her life. She thinks someone might not guess that about her, not when faced with the facts of her divorce and her estranged children and her failed commission. But at her core, she is dedicated and passionate and cares very much, even when it’s only coffee.

“I wondered when you’d be leaving us. Didn’t expect you to stay as long as you did anyway,” Owen says when she tells him, all nerves and fidgeting. She slumps slightly in relief, having expected some sort of reprimand or guilt trip about how hard it will be to replace her, how no one else likes to work mornings as much as she does. It almost hurts her pride, if she’s honest, how easily Owen has acclimated to the idea of running the shop without her. She likes to think she was integral to the inner workings of Grasshopper. She supposes that he got by before she showed up and he’ll get by after she leaves.

She goes home to her flat, where Serena is waiting for her. It feels nice, to have someone waiting for her. Serena’s sitting on the couch, clearly pretending to read a magazine that she’s only just picked up at the sound of Bernie’s keys in the door. “How’d it go?” she asks, and Bernie smiles. She’d transferred her nerves about this whole silly business onto Serena, who had most likely been pacing the floor waiting for Bernie’s return.

“Just fine. I suspect Grasshopper will live to see another day, even without their most avant-garde foam artist,” she says, kissing Serena’s cheek in greeting. Serena turns her head to catch Bernie full on the mouth, then pulls away, smiling, her whole face alight.

“Avant-garde, eh? That’s a nice word for it.” Her eyebrow quirks and Bernie leans in to kiss her again. It’s nice, it’s comforting, it’s surprisingly easy. Serena doesn’t seem to be willing to let Bernie get too far, tangling her fingers in Bernie’s hair, holding her close, sliding her tongue along the seam of Bernie’s lips. Bernie pinches Serena’s side, ever so lightly, and Serena jumps and bats Bernie on the shoulder.

“I have to shower and clean that coffee smell off me. And then we’ve got to pick up Jason for dinner. You can’t be distracting.” Serena’s mouth is pinched closed and Bernie knows she’s stopping herself from making a comment about how she _likes_ the smell of coffee on Bernie’s skin. She’s also stopping herself from following Bernie into the shower, Bernie’s sure of it. She soaps her skin quickly, doesn’t even bother with shampoo or conditioner, just twists her hair back into a clip. She towels dry, notes the slight change in the scent of her laundry now that Serena occasionally stocks her shelves. It’s a lighter scent, floral. It makes Bernie think of Serena, so she doesn’t mind.

They’re taking Jason out for fish and chips, and then Serena’s suggested they visit the spot near the hospital, Albie’s, and Bernie can meet some of her new coworkers in a less formal setting. Bernie tries not to be nervous about it, knows Serena thinks of her AAU colleagues as something akin to family, hopes she can find a way into the close-knit group.

Bernie drives, Serena’s hand burrowed under her thigh the whole way. Jason obligingly takes the backseat, comments once on the size of Bernie’s car, tucks his legs up close to his chest and says no more about it.

They eat dinner, Bernie lingering over the fish wrapped in greasy paper, letting Jason eat her chips. She can feel Serena watching her, knows that Serena is patiently her out, knows something is bothering Bernie, and will just sit tight until Bernie decides to tell her what it is.

Bernie wipes the last remnants of dinner from her mouth, dislodging a crumb that had stuck itself in the crease of her lips. Serena leans in and wipes her thumb across Bernie’s mouth, a gentle touch, just because she can. Bernie’s tongue flits out ever so slightly to tap against it, and Serena’s eyes darken ever so slightly.

“Let’s go,” she says, standing up, brooking no argument from Jason or Bernie. She’s straightening her shirt, putting some distance between them, trying to step into her more professional self. Bernie sees the transition happen, feels the divide widen. She frowns involuntarily, her forehead creasing ever so slightly. Serena catches it, murmurs, “What is it?” to Bernie, who just shakes her head. It’ll be fine, she’ll meet Morven and Raf and Fletch and all the people that populate Serena’s stories, and they’ll be happy to meet her, and she’ll become a part of their stories too. It’ll be fine.

It is fine, in the end. It isn’t great, but it’s fine. Bernie is not outgoing on her best day, but manages small talk to the best of her abilities. They all remember hearing about the army medic who was sent to their hospital, blown to bits. Her reputation has exploded rather a bit - Fletch says he heard that she faced an explosion to save her entire regiment. Bernie barks a laugh at that, says she wishes it was something that exciting. Serena sits back, glass of wine in hand, watches the people she loves best learn each other, trusts them to find their way to common ground without her hovering.

\- - -

Serena watches Bernie the morning of her first day of work at Holby City Hospital. She’s reserved, distant, and Serena knows she must be nervous. But Bernie isn’t one to say when something’s bothering her, at least not right at the instant that it bothers her, so Serena lets it be.

Bernie slept over at Serena’s, on Serena’s insistence, not that Bernie put up much of a fuss. She wants to ensure Bernie has a good dinner in her stomach and a decent breakfast to start the day off right, says she doesn’t trust that Bernie wouldn’t just drink a tall glass of squash and be on her way. Bernie shrugs and Serena knows she can’t deny it. She’s inspected Bernie’s fridge and found it wanting.

It’s comfortable, spending evenings together, spending nights together. Jason is more than welcoming of Bernie’s presence in their lives, graciously welcomes her to the couch for an episode of Countdown, seems only slightly put out when she does better than him at numbers. She says it’s from having to add up coffee and pastry prices for customers, and Jason seems to accept that she’s had practical experience with simple maths, and lets it go, especially when he thoroughly trounces her at all the letter rounds, even getting a nine letter word. Serena is content to watch them, content to have some of the pressure lifted from her shoulders, to let Bernie take the reins in this particular moment. She rubs Bernie’s back, low, where it aches, and enjoys the way Bernie arches into her touch, like a contented cat.

They go upstairs together, very little space between them as they climb the stairs, their shoulders constantly bumping. Bernie is malleable when she’s tired, lets Serena push her towards the bathroom first, allows Serena to pull her limbs around her, gives way to sleep under the heavy weight of the comforter. She feels more at peace than she’s felt in a while, in Serena’s bed. Serena likes to watch Bernie sleep, when her face is relaxed, her mouth slack, her wide eyes fluttering with dreams. Bernie’s woken up to her stare before, says nothing about it, only kisses Serena’s neck, right below her jaw. It’s her favorite spot, and Serena doesn’t argue with it, likes that Bernie has claimed ownership of it.

And when they wake together on the morning of Bernie’s first day, Serena is alight with energy and excitement, bursting to show Bernie AAU and the trauma bay. She can tell that Bernie wants to be excited as well, that she’s try to catch Serena’s excitement too. She makes a comment about looking forward to working with Morven, says that Dom has sent her a text saying he hopes she has a good first day.

Serena makes eggs, sausage, pours three large glasses of juice. Jason makes a comment about how breakfasts like this are not the norm, but that he quite likes this, says it reminds him of his mum. Serena’s heart breaks at this, wishes she could do this every day for him, wishes she could be all the things he misses, wishes she would never disappoint him. Bernie’s looking at her like she knows what’s going through her head, pats her hand gently, and Serena offers her a small smile.

They drive to the hospital together, Serena’s hands relaxed on the wheel, Bernie’s legs jumping. Serena wants to calm her, wants to be able to say the right words that will make her feel better. She pulls into her parking space, right near the entrance. She makes to open her door, but Bernie stops her with a hand on her other arm.

“Can we wait a minute?” she asks, her voice soft and small, and Serena drops her hand from the handle of the door.

“We’re early, we have time,” Serena reassures Bernie, faces her as best she can from the front seat.

“I don’t want to make a fool of myself. It’s been a while since I’ve worked, since I’ve been on a team like this.” She isn’t looking at Serena, so Serena reaches out to touch her chin, to pull Bernie’s face towards hers.

“You had a team, at Grasshopper. You know how to be on a team. And you won’t be jumping in head first. We’ll do surgeries together, consult with patients together. You’re not alone, Dr. Wolfe,” Serena says, using her title to try to win a smile from Bernie’s solemn face. She can see she’s almost successful, sees a twitch of the lips. She claps a hand on Bernie’s shoulder. “Buck up, soldier. Time to face the enemy.”

With that, Bernie seems to find it in her to exit the car and follow Serena inside.

\- - -

Her first few weeks at Holby, on AAU, are fine. More than fine. Bernie missed medicine, missed it so much. She thinks she let herself forget how much she loved surgery because it was easier than trying to figure out how to get back to it after she left the army. She likes being in theatre with Serena, likes seeing those warm, dark, flirtatious eyes over the top of her mask, likes trading quips with her like they’re sharing a plate of spaghetti and not poking at a person’s innards.

She’s a good surgeon, too. She knows it, can see the respect in the eyes of her coworkers, can see that she’s impressed the trainers, the people who are ensuring that her skillset hasn’t rusted, that she’s up to date on the latest procedures. She’s been studying, in her spare time, reading medical journals, grappling to make sure she’s current. Serena helps, reads to her in bed, glasses perched on her nose. Bernie makes fun of them, but loves them all the same.

The hardship she finds isn’t in her new coworkers, or in her reintroduction to medicine. Rather, it’s that Serena is quite protective of her ward. She likes being the boss, likes having the power, and she is bad at sharing it. Bernie has experienced military commanders with a similar problem, has butted heads with them, stood toe to toe with them. But this is a different environment, and there are different rules, and there’s the fact that it’s Serena.

Serena gets a little stiff when Jasmine or Morven comes up to Bernie for advice, isn’t used to having someone who is her equal on the ward, Bernie thinks. She’s used to be in the undisputed leader, and now there’s a little bit of fuzziness about who is really in charge. Bernie isn’t a co-lead, not yet, anyway, though Serena’s hinted that Hanssen has suggested it, but she has an air of authority about her, and people look to her easily. Serena’s had to earn her respect, worked her way through the system, Bernie knows it, and also knows she would have had to work hard to earn acceptance from AAU without her connection to Serena.

She tries to think of how to bring it up to Serena, how to mention it casually, that she’s being a little overprotective of her ward. There’s no tactful way to do it, Bernie’s sure of that, but she makes Serena a little survival kit, for the hard days, the days when it’s all so overwhelming, with Jason, with difficult cases, with everything. She finds a flask, puts some Shiraz inside, tucks other little things into the small satchel, and wraps it in brown paper, the best she can do, and puts it on Serena’s desk with a note written in her careful hand. Her writing is bold, forceful, but neat. Serena’s is delicate and pretty, the kind that would earn extra marks in penmanship. Bernie thinks at least if the conversation blows up in her face, Serena will have a hefty swig of wine waiting for her at the end of it.

By the time she gets up the courage to try to say something, it becomes a non-issue. Hanssen has seen her work, seen her in action, decided to trust her, and has declared her co-lead, with only Serena’s length of tenure giving her the slight edge in decision-making, if they ever find themselves in a deadlock. Bernie thinks they probably have the wherewithal to find a compromise, wonders what happens to them outside of the hospital if they don’t. Maybe they'll arm wrestle, she thinks. 

Serena is gracious in this, as in all things, and lets Bernie truly feel like her equal. They do make decisions well together, they trust each other to do what’s right. Bernie does make a side comment as their walking to the car one night, something about “Serena’s ward,” and Serena stops her, stops them both so that she’s facing Bernie.

“It’s _our_ ward. Ours. We run it together, our staff come to you just as easily as they come to me now.” And Bernie thinks that’s enough.

\- - -

They spend a lot of time at Serena’s house. It’s more lived in than Bernie’s flat, it has a can opener and a dishwasher and all the amenities that Bernie thinks about owning but has never actually purchased. Serena washes her towels once a week, regularly changes the sheets, makes sure the kitchen is swept up before going to bed each night. Serena likes a tidy house, likes to care for other people. It’s what makes her an excellent doctor, not just an excellent surgeon.

Serena has a daughter and an ex-husband, and an ex-husband’s new wife, but when she has a night that’s just her and Bernie and Jason, that feels like family to her, it feels like home. She feels disloyal to Elinor when she thinks that, but Elinor has kept her distance, and Serena has to respect that. She gets updates on her life from text messages and voicemails, but they rarely talk.

Bernie has mentioned emailing her children, has talked about missing them, wishing she could know how they are. Serena tries to understand that alienation. Even if she isn’t close with Elinor right now, they both know they have each other forever. She wonders if Cam or Charlotte would call up Bernie in a crisis, the way she knows Elinor would call her if the situation was really dire.

Serena likes spending her days with Bernie, likes being able to look across the ward floor and catch Bernie’s eyes, holding her gaze for longer than is probably decent. She likes sharing lunch with her, one of them in the visitor’s chair, the other in the desk chair, just trying to be close. She likes driving to and from work together, quiet music playing from the radio, just the warmth of one another’s company. They use the car ride home to work through the day, to leave everything behind before they go into the house. It usually works, too, only once have they brought an argument home with them.

But what Serena likes best is when they are face to face in her darkened bedroom (she’s starting to think of it as their room, with as much time as Bernie spends there now). They keep their faces close, practically sharing a pillow. She likes feeling Bernie’s breath on her cheek, Bernie has said she likes hearing the sound of Serena’s sleepy snuffles - something in between the heavy breathing of sleep and the loud annoyance of snoring. They talk in these moments, sharing the things they might not say aloud in the light of day. Bernie talks about her fears, talks about her bad dreams. Serena worries about Jason and her career and that she’ll never be as good as she wants to be. These moments are for nights in bed only, they don’t ever leave Serena’s room, the quiet sanctuary they’ve made for themselves, two bodies in a confessional made from a duvet.

Then one day Cam sends Bernie a text, says he wants to see her, that he’ll come by the hospital. Serena thinks she’s never seen Bernie so nervous, not even on the day she started at Holby. He shows up, is prompt, and Bernie disappears with him to Pulses, and Serena is unfocused, half of her mind on the coffee shop downstairs. She finds herself reading the same page of a patient’s chart for half an hour before she has to tell herself to concentrate.

Bernie says nothing when she returns to AAU, and Serena thinks that there will be a long talk tonight in bed.

She’s right, of course. She usually is. Bernie is unusually quiet for the rest of the day, eats dinner and drinks her wine, lets Jason carry the conversation, lets Serena pick up her slack. They change for bed in tandem, and Serena thinks how routine this has all become. They still have passion and romance, yes, but they also have this, a quiet domesticity, and she likes that just as well.

Serena turns off the lights and they slide under the covers. Bernie takes a breath, deep and shaky, and Serena waits her out. Then Bernie’s hand finds hers in the darkness, tangles their fingers together.

“He apologized,” she says and Serena smiles, because this was the scenario she knows Bernie least expected. “He apologized and said he’s going to try to go back to medical school. Said he might even look into the program at Holby. I’d see him every day, Serena.”

Serena squeezes her hand, slides even closer so their bodies are flush. She kisses Bernie, light and sweet. “I’m so glad,” is all she says, and Bernie tucks her head into the crook of Serena’s neck. “I’m so glad.”

\- - -

Bernie’s back is sore all the time. It’s to be expected, she did suffer a traumatic injury after all. It hurt after days at the coffee shop, but being a surgeon is demanding on her back in a different way. She hunches her shoulders while she operates, while she sits at her computer. She walks around the ward in shoes with gel insoles, but it’s still not enough.

She tries to hide the pain from Serena, but Serena has a doctor’s eye and has never been easily fooled. When they get home from work on a day that it’s really bad, Serena tells Jason they’re going upstairs, that he can call for a pizza if he’d like that for dinner. Sometimes that means Serena has been thinking about having sex with Bernie all day and is going to do something about it, but in this particular instance, Bernie doesn’t think that’s the case.

They go into the bedroom, Serena closes the door tightly behind them, and then goes about pulling Bernie’s shirt over her head. There are times where Bernie feels slightly like Serena’s plaything, because Serena likes to undress her, likes to bare her skin little by little, and Bernie just lets her, because who is she to deny Serena anything.

“Bed,” Serena commands. “On your stomach.” And then Bernie knows what’s about to happen. Serena has offered brief ministrations at work, quick, efficient massages of her sore muscles, but Bernie thinks that tonight Serena plans to take her time.

Serena busies herself in the bathroom, Bernie hears the tap running, can picture Serena washing her hands clearly, she sees her do it every day in the scrub room. She can hear Serena puttering around, opening cabinets and pulling things out, wonders if Serena has secretly been running a side operation as a masseuse this whole time. She closes her eyes, content to let Serena take her time, content to simply rest.

She hears Serena’s footsteps come closer, opens one eye, and smiles. Serena has lotion, pain pills, and a glass of water. She hands the latter two to Bernie, who leverages herself to her stomach ever so slightly so she can swallow the pills down easily, takes a sip of water without being prompted, then lays back down.

Serena rubs her hands together, rubs lotion between them to warm it up and Bernie is appreciative, doesn’t like the way it feels when her back tenses up at cold sensations. And then Serena begins to work her muscles, rubbing and squeezing deep and hard. It’s not exactly relaxing, but that’s not entirely the point. Serena is trying to help her back, and that doesn’t come about through gentle ministrations.

She doesn’t know how long it goes on, she only feels the comforter under her skin and Serena’s hands on her back. Her breath slows, she feels boneless and relaxed. Serena’s hands stop squeezing and prodding and start doing long sweeps along the length of her bare back, swirls and secret messages that Bernie is too tired to try to translate.

She feels Serena’s lips at the base of her neck, feels Serena’s mouth trail down her spine. She lays next to Bernie on the bed and Bernie agreeably turns on her side to face her.

“Your back is a bloody work of art,” Serena says, though there’s no malice to her voice. “All that smooth skin. Your moles look like constellations.” Bernie chuffs a laugh at this, not a chuckle, not a full-out honking. Serena looks at her fondly, leans in to kiss her, then rolls Bernie onto her back. Bernie appreciates that her back doesn’t make one single peep about being manhandled in such a way.

She thinks it’s good Jason has his dinner options under his own control because Serena has a glint in her eye that says they won’t be going downstairs again anytime soon. She mirrors the trail she blazed on Bernie’s back by kissing down Bernie’s stomach, her fingers following her mouth, meeting up at Bernie’s thighs. Her back arches as Serena licks into her, her thumb toying with her. It doesn’t take long, Bernie never takes long when Serena is in single-minded pursuit of making her orgasm.

When Serena has had her fill, they lay face to face again, daylight still filtering through the windows. They don’t often get to see each other like this, not while the sun is still out. Bernie likes to look at Serena’s kind face, likes to see those eyes softened with affection and warmth. She cups Serena’s cheek with her hand, rubbing her thumb along Serena’s lips. She traces the curve of her ear, touches her gently in the soft skin right behind her earlobe, and Serena practically purrs.

There’s nothing better than this, Bernie thinks. Nothing.

\- - -

When they have a day off together, they stay in their pajamas as long as they possibly can. It’s nice when they have a day with Jason, filled with quiz shows and idle chatter, but they also like having a day to just themselves, quiet, calm and intimate. Serena doesn’t brush her hair, and it sticks up at funny angles, and Bernie finds it endearing, so unlike the Serena that is presented to the outside world every day. Serena makes no comments about the birds nest that appears around Bernie’s head, knows that a quick swipe with a brush gets it as presentable as Bernie ever makes it.

They lounge in the kitchen, content to sit with each other in silence. Serena often pulls out the crossword, sits with the end of the pen in her mouth. Bernie offers a suggestion occasionally, but the crossword is Serena’s domain, especially since Bernie mentioned that she prefers to do it in pencil, in case she makes a mistake. “I don’t make mistakes,” Serena says, and it’s true. Bernie has yet to see her fill in a wrong letter.

Bernie makes them coffee, the sight always making Serena’s heart clench because it’s how they met. “I just prefer to leave coffee-making to the professionals. You can consider it your rent,” she says one morning with a smile, when Bernie asks why she doesn’t make the coffee anymore. Bernie pulls a face at her, hides her smile by ducking her head and focusing on pouring the grounds into the machine. She thinks she might buy a coffee press, some day. When she’s allowed to start filling Serena’s house with things that belong to both of them.

The coffee burbles, and she pours it in a mug, does her best to make a foam in it, does her best to make it as good as the coffee was at Grasshopper. Serena sits with her back to it all, the newspaper in front of her, one slippered foot on the empty chair. Bernie seats herself there, pulling Serena’s foot into her lap, the other foot following shortly after.

Bernie places the mug of coffee in front of Serena, a wonky heart drawn in the foam.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay that's it, that's the end. thanks for reading, thanks for lovely words. this has been a stressful experience for me, but all the kind comments made it worth it. also i hope, even if you judged me for using poem excerpts with every chapter, that it inspired you to spend some time with mary oliver, because she's the absolute best.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art: the long and wondrous journey still to be ours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10358937) by [Kayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayryn/pseuds/Kayryn)




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